Let's Play Pretend
by truglasgowgal
Summary: The first time she met him, he made such an impression she found it near impossible to tear herself away. She'd been drawn to him from that moment, and he'd been capitalizing on it ever since. Alex/Neal. Past to present to future.
1. Chapter 1

This was my first attempt at writing a fic in this fandom, (now my third lol) so I hope I've done it justice :)  
It was originally meant to be a one-shot, but as with most of my writing, I sort of got a bit carried away, so it turned into a multi-chap.

Hope you enjoy...

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**Title:** Let's Play Pretend  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, sadly.  
**A/N:** Ok, so according to 2x03, the FBI were after Neal for 6 years, and then he was in prison for nearly 4 years before S1, so I figure Neal's been in the game for at least ten years. Possibly longer, which is where my fic comes in ;)  
**Summary:** The first time she met him, he made such an impression she found it near impossible to tear herself away. She'd been drawn to him from that moment, and he's been capitalizing on it ever since. Neal/Alex, past to present to future.

"_But isn't that the whole fun of life? Surprises that can change everything in an instant?"  
_**_Helena Christensen_**

.

Chapter One

"_Yeah, he's a looker, but I really think it's guts that matter most."  
_**_The Spill Canvas, 'All Over You'_**

.

She'd barely taken two steps inside the pawnshop when the dark-haired, blue-eyed teenager sidled up to her and tried to tempt her into purchasing a piece of art.

And tempted she was. That sort of work could fetch her a tidy fortune. Of course it was a forgery, an exceptional one at that, but a forgery all the same.

Surveying the canvas, the amused expression on her face never wavered, as she appraised it, "Nice try, but I'm in the market for something a little more _authentic_."

On her way out, with the small package she'd originally come for neatly wrapped and tucked into one of the hidden compartments in her bag, she passed by the teenager once more.

He wished her good day and she nodded in acknowledgment; enjoying the way his eyes lingered on her frame that moment longer than he could put down to ingrained politeness.

She was halfway out the door when her conscience – or what she later referred to as her Achilles heel – seemed to get the better of her.

"You have an extraordinary talent, so I'm gonna give you some advice," she offered, and watched his face light up with a hundred-watt smile. "In future don't make your signature so obvious. That's the sort of arrogance that'll get you caught."

He released a vibrant laugh at that, drawing the attention of the elder male behind the counter who raised an eyebrow in their direction.

"Everything alright over there?" the pawnbroker asked, though it took but a cursory glance over the man's well-defined form to realize he was something much more than just that.

"Yeah, dad." The boy waved him off jovially. "The lady was just telling me I've got the best God-given talent she's ever seen – and with these good looks and this charm, I'm sure to go far."

The man shook his head at his son's words, returning to his previous task, but there was no mistaking the smile on his face or the pride that emanated from it.

She rolled her eyes at the boy, holding up a hand in farewell as she walked out the door, calling back, "Goodbye blue-eyes."

With the youngster's laughter following her down the street, she found herself smiling all the way back to her convertible.

The first time Alex met Neal he'd made quite the impression, so it was no wonder she found it difficult to tear herself away when they next crossed paths.

_**TBC…**_

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This chap was basically the introduction, the others are longer, but nowhere near my normal 8-12 pages in Word. More like 2-5 lol, but change is good for you, so we'll see how it goes ;)

Hope you liked it, and please let me know what you thought.  
Steph  
xxx


	2. Chapter 2

Hope you enjoy…

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Chapter Two

"_It's not a matter of luck, it's just a matter of time."  
_**_30 Seconds to Mars, 'Edge of the Earth'_**

.

When she next saw him, he was crouched in the back corner of the pawnshop, between the wall and the safe. The noise that she already found so familiar lured her in from the street, her curiosity getting the better of her; that damned Achilles heels of hers preventing her from merely walking on by when she realized exactly where the noise was originating.

Stepping further into the space, she found him drilling into the top of the container with a concentrated determination she'd never witnessed in one so young. She doubted even looking in the mirror during her most high-pressured jobs could have elicited the same response. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that. She figured she'd tilt it in her favor and say he needed to mask his facial expressions better.

"I'm not doing anything illegal," his voice reached her from the other side of the room; the noise of crunching metal having subsided since he'd removed the drill from the hole he had been burrowing mere moments prior.

"I know," she placated him, walking towards his position. "It's your father's shop, you're entitled to everything he owned – and even some he didn't, I'd well imagine."

"I just – I couldn't remember the combination," he divulged then, and it startled her how honest he sounded, how raw.

When she caught sight of the tears that streaked across the sharp angles of his cheekbones, wounds still fresh, she stopped short.

"It was the day he met my mom, and I've heard the story enough to know I _should_ know it, but I just – I can't remember," he continued.

She was certain his voice would haunt her for days.

Then he turned to face her fully. The darkness hugged him close, and his grief was accentuated in the flickers of light provided by the streetlamps; and she knew, just _knew_, that given half a chance, he could break her.

Never one to dwell exceptionally long on the somber undertones of life, she attempted to steer their 'conversation' in a different direction.

"So you decided to take a power drill to it instead?" she quirked an eyebrow as she posed the question and took a step closer to him. "You know, it's usually easier if you go through the front, rather than the top."

"It has a sheet of tempered glass between the door and the lock," he informed her, his voice low.

"Well, in that case, I stand corrected," she returned, holding up her hands in defense.

"Full of advice for me though, aren't you?" he remarked, with an upward twist to his mouth.

He continued to eye her, his suspicion evident, even if his tone had been light.

"By all means, continue," she told him, gesturing for him to carry on with his previous task.

He seemed wary. "And allow you to make your move as soon as my back is turned? I don't think so," he countered.

She laughed at that, genuinely amused by his comment.

"Boy, if I'd wanted to rob you, I'd have swiped some of those nice little trinkets in that cabinet over there when I first happened upon you," she nodded at the glass-topped counter on the other side of the room, and then shrugged nonchalantly with the afterthought, "Maybe even earlier."

His eyes flickered over to the point she'd mentioned, but he gave no further indication of having acknowledged that he took what she said to be true.

She rolled her shoulder and released a breath, "Relax, I'm not here to rob you."

And as she crossed the small difference left between them; he drew a gun.

"Don't come any closer," he instructed, the weapon trained directly on the spot between her eyes. Kill shot. "Why don't you tell me why you are here, then? If not to steal my father's only remaining assets?"

"Maybe I wanted to take another look at that forgery you tried to sell me the other day," she returned easily, tilting her head to the side to survey him closely. "Maybe I wanted to tempt you with an offer you couldn't refuse."

His eyes flashed in the darkness, and he squinted up at her in the slightest of movements.

"What d'you plan to do with whatever's in there anyway?" she inquired then, as if they were holding a casual conversation about their daily routine. "Need to make some quick cash? 'cos I might know someone who's willing to oblige."

He untangled his crooked limbs and stood up so he was facing her. "Some things are worth more than paper bills."

"What about gold coins?" she tried, with a quick flash of a smile and a lift of the eyebrows to aid her half-hearted attempt at persuasion.

"You'd sell your memories for some loose change?" his voice was depressingly sober.

"Oh, I don't know that you could call a couple of million _loose change_," she returned, and then shrugged her shoulders as she surveyed some of the items in the cases around them. "Or maybe you could, I suppose."

"I'm not looking for money," he told her quite simply; so much so she almost believed him. Almost.

When the door of the safe swung open to reveal stacks of bills amid various files of paper and certain interesting items of different origin, she merely raised a perfectly styled eyebrow in his direction.

"Of course not, you're doing it for the memories," she replied, doing nothing to hide her scathing tone.

"Here." He tossed a stack of hundreds over to her, the indifference rolling off him like waves, as he fit her with a hard stare. "Like I said, I'm not looking for money. I don't _need_ money."

She looked mildly affronted at that, gesturing to herself as she queried, "Oh, an I look like I do?"

He shrugged, gesturing to their surroundings as he said, "It's my experience that people can always use more money."

She mimicked the movement, tossing her hair over her shoulder, as she mused, "I suppose that's true."

Running her thumb over the edges of the bills, she looked up and found him watching her closely.

"You didn't forge these, did you?" She pursed her lips as she waited for his tell to reveal itself.

"Should I be getting the feeling you'd like me to answer 'yes' to that question?" he asked in return, and she was pleased to find his mood lifting somewhat through the lighter tone with which he spoke.

She hummed low in her throat. "Well, it certainly wouldn't be a horrendous turn of events."

She turned sharply to eye him then.

"You're not an informant are you?" she questioned.

A slow smile crept along his lips, as he appeared to marvel at their entwined train of thought, "And here I was about to ask you the same question – well, actually I considered the possibility you were a Fed or some other agency fox, but – "

"But?" she cut him off; genuinely entertained by his assessment, intrigued by where it was leading.

"But I figured they wouldn't have someone as disarmingly beautiful as yourself posted anywhere except the big cities," he continued, to her growing amusement.

He seemed to revel in the positive reaction he received from her.

"That and I pegged you as being too young to be trapped in the monotony of government desk job," he added, flashing her that dazzlingly bright smile he'd gifted her on their first encounter.

To say it brightened up the dark was utterly cliché and not at all what she tended to invest her time in; but it was also true.

"Ah, well that would depend on the documentation," she quipped, an almost gleeful expression on her face.

His eyes widened slightly at the declaration, and she waved it off nonchalantly, smile still in place.

"Ah, semantics," she dismissed easily, and then she looked at him. "We both know I'm not the only one with some tricks up my sleeve."

He pled the Fifth, which elicited a laugh from her; and then they settled into almost comfortable silence.

She broke it with her next line.

"I heard your father was shot, I'm sorry," she told him after a few moments of quiet.

"Yeah, well, you live by the gun, you die by the gun, right?" he responded, and she could tell he was attempting to be rather blasé about the matter. She saw right through it.

"That's a rather cynical take on it," she remarked, gaze focused on his form.

"That's a realistic take on it," he merely said in return.

She eyed him, the complex boy who stood before her. He held all of the traits that would allow him to excel in her field of expertise, and now he was alone too; he simply needed to be molded, no _refined._

And with the right… guidance, he could be borderline legendary. She said 'borderline', hoped for it actually, even then, because in her line of work, taking credit went hand in hand with danger. A little danger added to the thrill, sure, but you fly too close to the sun and your wings melt under the intense heat. Danger was what got you years in a Federal Penitentiary.

"Here," he said then, breaking her from her train of thought as he tossed the gun across to her.

She caught it with practiced ease.

"The worst you can do now is shoot me, right? Well, after you rob me, of course," he remarked with a bitter undertone to his laugh. "But now my dad's dead, there's no one to miss me, or attempt to reclaim our property."

"Don't say things like that," she told him in response, dropping the weapon into her bag alongside the packet of hundred-dollar bills he'd bestowed upon her earlier.

"Why?" he replied, his eyebrows lifting in an image of disbelief that seemed to be mocking her. "Because you might fall for my self-pity act and have to dig deep into your well of motherly-instinct to deal with it?"

"No," she told him. "Because someone will take advantage of it."

He was watching her just as closely as she was watching him; apparently she was quite the study as well. As if she didn't already know that.

"They're going to put me into foster care, you know," he said then. "I've been staying with a friend, his mom managed to arrange it 'cos his dad's in the police, but I think they're getting sick of me – though how that's even possible, I'll never know. Apparently they couldn't get hold of any of my next of kin – not even my Aunt Wendy."

"Do you have an Aunt Wendy?" she quirked her eyebrow as she posed the question she already suspected the answer to.

"Maybe," he dismissed quickly.

The way he said it almost had her laughing out loud.

"And the school counselor just won't stop pulling me from class so I can have these little _chats _with her. It's demeaning," he continued.

She watched the myriad of expressions flitter across his face like a flash-grenade before the eventual calm surfaced, and his expression became almost inscrutable once again. The pout was obvious though.

"Is that supposed to have me digging into my well of motherly instinct?" she asked.

"That depends. Is it working?" he answered, flashing her a hopeful smile.

She rolled her eyes, "I already know I'm going to regret this. You're going to turn out to be more trouble than you're worth."

He held out his hands, palms up, arms outstretched, and his lips spread into a Cheshire cat smile, "Come on, how could this face ever be trouble?"

She rolled her eyes and turned on her heel to walk out the store, as he quickly scavenged for the items he had been looking for and gathered them up in his arms before following her out.

**_TBC…_**

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Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought :)  
Next chapter should be up tomorrow at some point depending when I get home.  
Steph  
xxx


	3. Chapter 3

This chapter, and the next few, pertain to Alex and Neal's initial time together. Thereafter the chapters cover different instances in time where they've been together – just a head's up ;)

Hope you enjoy…

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Chapter Three

_"You must look into people as well as at them."_  
**_Chesterfield_**

.

The boy was a talker. And it wasn't a simple case of he liked to talk about himself, oh no, he could turn just about anything into a conversation piece. She'd admire the quality if she wasn't so tired and the sole person on the receiving end.

When she casually mentioned his age, he suddenly seemed fully aware that she'd swiped his wallet to retrieve the information. The amused look on his face became even more prominent when he produced her own, held deftly between two fingers, and tilted it in her direction to swap with his. He also made a point to note that although her license put her at nearly five years older than him, he'd venture a guess that she was only two – at most. She laughed, genuinely pleased by the situation, but neither confirmed or denied his suspicions. She had to admit; the entertainment factor of his presence was enough for her to momentarily dismiss the implications of his company and what it meant for her future movements.

"Why are we walking anyway?" he asked after a while, disgruntled. "Don't you have a car?"

"Well considering you've conned me into kidnapping you, I'd think you'd agree that drawing unnecessary attention to our position would be somewhat unwise at this juncture," she replied curtly, fitting him with a look.

"Well, that depends," he said, a smug look on his face. "What kind of car do you have?"

She narrowed her eyes, and then plucked her keys from her bag.

He whistled at the sight of the Ferrari insignia. "That for the F50?" he asked then.

"What do you think?" was her simple reply, complete with scathing look.

"I think that you'd be correct in assuming your car would draw an unnatural amount of attention if you parked it outside my house. That is where we're going, right? My house? Because that's the direction I've been leading us in, so if it's not – "

"Do you ever take a breath?" she cut him off, fitting him with a sideways glance. "Seriously, you're like a battery-operated doll that never stops yapping."

"But I'm a pretty doll, right?" he chanced, beaming at her.

"No," she deadpanned. "You've been pulverized beneath my heels so much you barely resemble anything anymore. Happy?"

A frown fell over his face that indicated he was most certainly not happy with that and they fell into another bout of silence.

"My dad loved vintage models. He completely rebuilt the more worse-for-wear ones, displayed them in our garage. He was so good that people would bring their cars for him to fix," he spoke up a few minutes later. "That's why your car would stand out, not because we were too poor to socialize with anyone of that income."

"So you're really a mechanic's son then," she mused aloud, and briefly looked him up and down. "For some reason I'm finding that difficult to picture."

He threw a contemptuous look her way. "Looks can be deceiving."

She let out a hearty laugh at that. "Oh, can't they just."

.

When they finally arrived at his house, she had to admit it was far grander than she'd expected of a mere pawnbroker, or a mechanic. Then again, she'd seen some of the pieces the man held in his possession, heard of the types of cars he had in his garage, and as his son proved; appearance was an illusion itself.

She followed him inside, and took her time surveying the property while he scampered off to his bedroom to collect some things. She'd been very clear about the specifics of the items he was to bring with him.

With mild interest she pressed play on the answering machine as she walked by, trailing a finger along the various surfaces while a female's voice bounced off the art-covered walls. One thing she was certain of; the boy had certainly been loved.

Tilting her head to check the caller ID she recognized the number as the one he'd dialed earlier in the night. He'd made sure she was well within earshot to listen to him graciously thank the woman for her hospitality and then inform her that he was leaving to try and track down his aunt who he planned to stay with; he also apologized for any inconvenience the late-notice may have caused her. When he was done he'd shot a quick look her way and she'd told him just to smile, because she knew he was pleased with himself. He'd turned to her with a fully-fledged smile carved into his cheeks, open sincerity in his voice as he thanked her for allowing him to come with her.

She'd rolled her eyes, called him cowboy and told him to ease up because they were still on the induction stages of their relationship. She'd been unable to stop the smile that curved her lips upwards, however, which sort of took the seriousness out of her tone.

.

"My mom was a painter," he divulged as they made their way to the space where she'd parked, and she really wished he would just stop already. The more she knew about him, the more her instinct to keep him by her side took hold. "She used to paint the places she'd been to and send them to my dad when he was away. He had a whole collection of them."

Lifting his hands in a small gesture, he produced the bundle of weathered parchment, curling at the edges and bound with an elastic band, that she'd watched him retrieve from the safe in his father's store.

"She painted all of these. They're mostly of me, but there are some of us together. They're the ones she sent to him while he was overseas, and my dad kept them all," he disclosed, once they were settled inside the car. The amazement that colored his words was more profound in the enclosed space.

He looked over at her as she turned off the engine, and she spotted the vulnerable markers in his expression instantly. His eyes were glassy and she honestly thought she could drown in them. Bad clichés be damned; she was talking literally. She felt herself becoming enraptured by his gaze and knew it would only be a matter of time before she lost herself to him altogether.

"Before she died she created an album for me of all the paintings she made of me growing up," he told her. "My dad always said I took after her more than him. I'd paint nonstop, and I could concentrate for hours on the most fiddly of tasks. He used to call me Nimble."

She watched him crack a smile at the memory, and yet as tragic as he looked, she found she couldn't tear her gaze away.

"And you saw him; I definitely took after my mom in the looks department," he said, and his voice broke around the brief laugh he emitted then. "He had to look into the eyes of his dead wife everyday, while I went around painting and sculpting and doing everything she herself had done; but he never seemed to resent me for it, he still loved me."

His gaze cut across the small space between them like glass, slicing through her in an instant.

"You were his child," she told him. "Of course he loved you."

She almost choked on the words. Her breath shuddered past her lips as she attempted to calm herself as quickly and efficiently as possible; steeling herself against the barrage of memories that threatened to overwhelm her while her usually stony reserve was momentarily depleted by this boy's grief.

"I know, I just – " he sighed, and she could hear the exhaustion in his voice. "I don't know that I can imagine loving someone so much that you're willing to overlook everything else."

Silence hung in the air between them, and she knew she had to say something. In actuality, however, she couldn't relate to his situation; she couldn't even sufficiently sympathize because everything she'd worked so hard to compartmentalize was attempting to tear her apart seam-by-seam from the inside.

She cleared her throat and threw on a shaky smile that was confident enough to pass inspection when his eyes caught onto hers a minute later.

"Oh, so I've got myself a romantic on my hands, do I?" she said, effectively lifting the mood and bringing them both back to the present.

He shrugged, and ducked his head, but she saw the smile that tweaked the corners of his lips and she felt her own settling further into her skin.

.

He seemed impressed by her choice of residence, which amused her.

"What?" she asked him, raising an eyebrow in his direction. "You thought the car was just for show?"

She saw the smirk on his face before the words even left his mouth. "I might've had my suspicions," he answered.

She just rolled her eyes at him and strolled through the open door.

"Miss Cartwright?" a voice called out as they walked across the foyer towards the elevators.

She stopped and turned slowly to face the gentleman coming towards them.

"You asked that your business associate be shown to your room when he arrived," the concierge informed her. "I escorted him myself a short while ago."

"Yes, I did," was her simple response, and then she slipped the man a rather generous tip. "Thank you."

He fell back into step with her, and then stopped when she did, turning round to face the hotel employee once more.

"This associate of mine?" she questioned him. "Was he a short, little, white guy with glasses?"

"No, maam," the concierge responded. "He was tall, with a muscular build, and he was dark-skinned."

"So about as far removed from your guy as you could get," she heard the remark plainly from by her side and promptly ignored it.

"Of course, my mistake," she told the concierge, giving him a tight smile. She threw a dismissive wave in the air and rolled her eyes. "So many business meetings, you forget what day it is at times."

She laughed off the man's initial curious expression and he smiled warmly at her in return, apparently placated.

She didn't doubt that the teenager next to her had noticed her blanche when the concierge had described the man who awaited her in her hotel suite, though he made no acknowledgment to that effect.

"You!" she turned and pointed at him. "Stay here."

He stood chalk still at the order, and if she wagered a guess, almost like he wanted to salute her.

She fit him with a hard stare and he remained as he was.

"I'll come for you soon," she assured him.

**_TBC…_**

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Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought.  
Should have the next chapter up tomorrow – with the introduction of another character to mix it up a bit :)  
Steph  
xxx


	4. Chapter 4

Ok, so not got the greatest response to this, but since I've typed up most of it, I'm jus gonna keep posting and if anyone is reading then that's great – I appreciate it :D

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Chapter Four

_Great perils have this beauty; that they bring to light the fraternity of strangers.  
_**_Victor Hugo_**

.

Naturally, patience was not his strong suit. Before long she looked up to find him standing in the doorway to her suite, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as he took in her disheveled form in the center of the chaos that surrounded her.

"I thought I told you to wait in the foyer," she said, talking as best she could while she kept the white cloth pressed tightly to her lip.

"You did," he rolled his shoulders and looked at her with an expression that asked her what she really expected. "I got bored."

"Of course you did," was her dry retort.

"What happened up here?" he asked; taking a tentative step into the room; head swiveling to survey the damage.

"He didn't agree with my selling price," she said scathingly.

He walked towards her, eyes focused solely on her. She squinted and tilted her head away from his penetrating gaze.

"That guy? Who you came up here to meet? He hit you?" he said at her movement.

He sounded so appalled it made her wonder if his parents sheltered him from the all the atrocities of the world. And then she recalled his statement about guns and his father, and the fact that the elder was dead. It made for the strangest combination.

"Well, I didn't walk into the door," she replied, her derisive tone cutting through the air.

He narrowed his eyes at her and then turned on his heel and strode into the adjoining room. She followed him with her eyes as he walked around the room and then moved sharply to his left. She frowned, inwardly deciding whether or not to follow him and demand he tell her what the Hell he thought he was doing. She walked into the next room just as he emerged from the bathroom.

"Here," he said, holding out a fresh hand-towel towards her. "I got you a clean towel, and some ice."

She took the white cloth from his grasp and offered him a small smile along with her gratitude. "Thanks."

She took a seat down on the end of the bed and brought the towel he'd just given her up to her split lip. With a glance through the open doorway, she threw the bloodied rag across the space with incredible disinterest and didn't even look as the sound of it hitting the waste-bin echoed off the tiles.

"You have good aim," he remarked at the feat.

She looked up at him with a crooked smirk. "If only I knew when to duck."

Her short laugh was cut off with a low frustrated groan and she rubbed at her sore cheek with her free hand. A beat later she felt the mattress deflate with his weight and opened her eyes to find him watching her intently.

"How is it guys always seem to know how to hit a woman right across the cheek? Bam! Feels like your eye is gonna explode," she said, taking his offering of ice wrapped in another towel and pressing it to the side of her face.

"Are we quoting popular films now? What's wrong? Can't find the right words to express the feeling yourself?" he quipped, and she had a feeling it was his way of returning the favor for earlier that night when she'd attempted to divert the moment to a lighter one.

"Why bother, when someone else's done it for me?" she returned, and then gave him a half-smirk. "And besides, I was paraphrasing. If you want perfect recall I'll introduce you to the short little guy with glasses I _intended_ to do business with tonight."

"What makes you think he wasn't the one who set you up with this other guy? You know, the guy who figured taking his fist to your face would be a better idea than trying to simply talk the answers out of you," he said, staring hard at her.

"Because he's standing right behind you," another voice entered the fold then.

The younger swiveled round sharply, surprise coloring his features for the briefest moment before it was masked beneath a congenial smile that she suspected could win over even the hardest of criminals. Maybe even her previous guest.

She didn't miss the twinge of embarrassment mixed in with the initial shock either; she wasn't the only one who hated being caught off-guard.

"Mozzie," she acknowledged with an incline of the head.

"Alex," he returned in kind.

Naturally, she shot him a look then, which didn't go unnoticed by the young male sitting next to her. She wasn't so naïve as to think he hadn't heard the use of a completely different name from the one the concierge had used earlier that evening; a completely different name from the one he himself had recited back to her when he'd swiped her purse. Krista Cartwright; _KC_ to her sorority sisters; Kriss-Cross to her old friends from home. It was a good alias; she'd hate to see it go because of something that could easily be smoothed over given half a chance.

"Oh, I'm sorry, was I supposed to assume your pet project wasn't aware you were working under a pseudonym?" Mozzie asked.

She sent him a withering glare. "I thought all you did was assume such things, given your affliction for all things paranoia with our world."

"Your name's _Alex_?" the question sounded in her ear then, and she rolled her head to the side to face him.

"Yes," she dragged out along with a deep sigh. "Alexandra Hunter. Pleased to meet you."

He nodded and then shifted his gaze to the shorter man still standing on the other side of the room.

"And _that_ is – "

"Dante Haversham," the man said, cutting the amusement from her tone before she could finish her introduction.

"Right, Haversham," the younger said, sounding totally unconvinced by the whole exchange.

"Yes," the other man responded curtly.

"Call him Mozzie, it's easier," she told him with a roll of the eyes in the elder male's direction.

"Well, I'm Luke O'Neill. And that's my real name," he informed the other.

"The concept of a 'real name' is circumstantial," Mozzie enlightened him, using his pointer-finger as an indicator of prominent spots in his speech. "It generally rests with your own belief and how this infringes on the beliefs of others. Documentation will only take you so far, my friend; to survive in this world, you must be a chameleon."

"Are you finished with the pep-talk? Can we get on with this now?" she asked, impatience rounding her speech more than the split lip she was sporting.

"You should keep that there," the voice by her side told her, a passing comment as he turned, gesturing with a nod to the makeshift ice pack she'd removed from her cheek.

"That bad?" she asked him, and she none-too-gently pressed the cold fabric back to the side of her face.

"That depends," he said, and flashed her a winning smile. "How much make-up do you have with you?"

"That's lovely," Mozzie cut in. "The damsel in distress and the typical gallant hero. That's it, bond over this moment while I stand back and blend into the wallpaper."

"It's hideous wallpaper," the younger remarked at that.

"My point exactly," Mozzie answered, and then shot her a look. "Now, Alex, a word if you don't mind?"

She heaved a sigh and she stood up, walking with him into the next room. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she settled for an amused quirk of the lips as she watched Mozzie hold the younger male's gaze while he closed the double doors separating them from one another.

"And here I thought you were always one to make smart decisions," he said as soon as the doors had slid closed into place.

"Who's to say this isn't one?" she countered, with a sly smile. Spinning round, she nonchalantly took a seat on the couch, leisurely holding out her arms, palms up.

He merely gave her a look in return.

"He has untapped potential, _Haversham_," she said at that. "Besides, kid just lost the only family he had left, figured getting him out of this place was the least I could do."

"And take him where, exactly?" Mozzie questioned. "I know you have a penchant for world travel, Alex, but I think he might be a bit more difficult to conceal than some gold coins or a priceless painting or two."

"Oh, spare me, Mozzie. You know as well as I do that a face like _that_ will rarely go anywhere unnoticed," she remarked. "Might as well have him for arm candy for a little while before he runs off on his own to explore the big bad world."

Mozzie released a derisive _hmph_, his disapproval of this so-called 'plan' evident.

"Just wait till you see what he can do," she informed him, the air about her smug. "You'll soon realize I was right to nab him when I did."

"Yes, well, we'll see about that," he answered, unconvinced. "Now, let us cast our minds over the business aspect of our relationship."

"There's another aspect of our relationship?" she asked, tone teasing of surprise.

He apparently decided to ignore that and instead prompted, "Do you have what you came for?"

She gave him a look. "Mozzie," she chided. "What sort of amateur do you take me for?"

She produced the small package from her bag and unwrapped it from its protective covering. His face lit up like a Christmas tree.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

Thanks so much for reading, lemme know what you thought  
Steph  
xxx


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks to everyone reading, but especially to those who've reviewed. I really enjoy hearing about your take on what I've written, so please, keep the feedback coming :)

* * *

Chapter Five

_"One man in his time plays many parts."_  
_**William Shakespeare**_

.

When Mozzie was finally satisfied that they'd concluded their business, he stepped up to the double doors and pulled them both open in a grand gesture that instantly widened up the space.

She imagined it was but a beat later that his eyes fell on the teenager spread out on the king-size bed before them; a bottle of red wine on the side table, a discarded remote lying atop the papers strewn across the mattress, and plates of food on top of them.

"Finally!" he exclaimed, holding up his glass in a toast of unabashed glee.

Mozzie audibly gasped as his gaze fell on the label on the bottle, and then his head spun round as he directed his gawking expression between the two of them. She smirked at the sight; she had to admit, boy had exceptional taste.

He dipped his head and adopted a low timber to his voice as he said; "I trust you've finished discussing how much that little gem of a find you got in my dad's shop will fetch you on the black-market."

"You told him?" Mozzie kept his gaze on her alone then, the accusation in his voice eliciting a very deliberate and exasperated roll of the eyes from her.

"Why would I, when your shifty comings-and-goings could do it for me?" she returned, fitting him with a look.

"Oh, come on, guys. Don't fight," the teenager still sprawled out on the bed implored them, flashing them a winning smile. "Have a drink!"

"Do you even realize the vintage of that bottle? And you appear to be downing it as if it's water! How old are you, anyway? Twelve?" Mozzie moved forward and snatched the glass out of the youngster's hand. "Have you no appreciation of the finer things in life?"

"I thought that was why I was enjoying my glass of wine," the boy retorted, making a move to grab the glass back.

"I repeat," the elder countered, holding it out of the other's reach. "How old are you? Twelve?"

"My mom's parents had a vineyard in France. I used to vacation there. I know all about the _finer things in life_," the teenager answered, his teenage petulance shining through as he lost patience in their little 'game'.

"Cliché, but I'll take it," Mozzie answered and carefully handed the glass back to the teenager. "You may proceed."

"You're too kind," was the sarcastic reply, as the youngster accepted the glass. And then he downed the rest of its contents and deposited it on the side table in a haughty flourish that screamed of blatant amused defiance. "Mmm. Delicious."

It was a couple of minutes later before Mozzie seemed to be breathing calmly enough to pose the question, "And who, pray tell, is covering the expenses for your little indulgent affair here?"

The kid made a show of patting himself down, brow furrowed in slight confusion, before he held a hand up and a smile settled across his lips as he produced a credit card from his pocket.

"A Mr. Darius Troy, I believe," he informed them, squinting as he read it off the card like that was the first time he'd actually properly looked at the piece of plastic. "Tall black guy, well-built, _charming_ – as I'm sure you're aware. I met him in the elevator."

"You picked his pocket?" Mozzie's voice was higher even than it was during the wine incident.

"Was that bad?" the teenager asked in faux ignorance, and she rolled her eyes at him. The boy was a natural born actor; she knew he was going to be trouble from the start.

"That's great, Alex, just great," Mozzie remarked, shooting her a look. "You've brought me a high-class delinquent."

.

Mozzie took a photo of their newest 'addition' and after a brief discussion over their arrangements, although he was fairly insistent it was better that the less they actually talked about the better, he left to go and get the necessary documents and identification sorted. He made sure to have a glass of wine himself before he went though, a rather generous pouring too, naturally.

"Don't look at me like that," she told the pouting boy before her. "You were the one nagging at me to take you with me. I get you out of here we do it my way. And that means, you need a new identity."

"Do I at least get to choose my own name?" he asked at that.

She seemed to ponder on it for a moment.

"Alex?" he prompted; one of the few times he'd used her name since discovering it, his lips curving upwards as if to tempt her to sway in the direction of his choosing.

She gave him a smile of her own and deadpanned, "No."

His face fell.

"Mother's maiden name?" she questioned, ignoring his scowl.

"McCafferty," he replied, the tone so typically sullen she rolled her eyes at his teenage antics.

"And your maternal grandparents owned a vineyard in France?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

"It was an investment for their retirement," he told her, his tone still surly. "My mom was born there, but they moved on when she was still young. They always wanted to go back."

"Well, you can keep part of your own name too," she said, moving on quickly. "Change O'Neill to Neal."

He worked his lip, seemingly thinking this over.

"Neal Caffrey," she announced after a moment. "It's close enough to your previous names that you should be able to remember it easily enough, while you get settled in, but not so close that anyone should actually tie it with anything substantial. I'm going to call Mozzie, so he has a name to put on your new birth certificate and all that jazz. You – finish your wine."

A few minutes later, she returned to the room to find him sitting on the end, everything put back perfectly in place.

Her eyes caught onto the bloody towels stuffed into one of the bags at his feet.

He followed her gaze and then gave her a half shrug, "Figured since I'm technically on the run and you're my accomplice, it wouldn't do well to just leave DNA lying in plain sight."

She laughed indulgingly. "Has someone been taking more advice from fugitive movies and cop shows?"

"Mozzie said – "

"Word of warning, as brilliant as Mozzie is, he's also warped by paranoia," she told him, shaking her head. "Notice how he didn't take the towels himself? It's his skewed way of teaching me responsibility while making sure I clean up my own mess."

"So, he's like your mentor then?" he surmised, his tone colored by sudden understanding and something akin to amusement.

"Oh, no," Alex countered, with a smirk. "He's gonna be yours."

**_TBC…_**

* * *

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought – it means a lot!  
Steph  
xxx


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

_"For the life of me I cannot remember,_  
_What made us think that we were wise and we'd never compromise."_  
_**The Freshman, The Verve Pipe**_

.

"I want to put them in with him," he informed her, as they walked across the hotel lobby, holding up the stack of papers that she knew to be the paintings his mother had created of his ascent from birth to adolescence. "So you get me into the funeral home so I can give these to my dad and I'll follow you anywhere without any trouble."

She sent him a look that told him she seriously doubted their time together would be anything near plain sailing, as showcased by the events that had already occurred. However, with a heavy sigh, she relented. "Fine."

"Good," he said at this, his face lighting up.

Honestly, he was like a child perpetually high on e-numbers.

When she moved past him, he leaned forward, arms by his side and said in a stage whisper, "D'you think they know that's no longer the original hanging above their entrance?"

"No," she answered shortly, turning to face him. "And they will remain oblivious to that fact as long as you keep your mouth shut."

"Oh," he voiced, recognition flooding his features, and then he flashed her a winning smile. "Sorry!"

"Mmm," she murmured at that, and then nodded to the main doors. "Now move."

"You're awful demanding, you know that?" he huffed as he took an extra long step to keep up with the determined click of her heels against the marble floor.

"I'm told it's a trait men find enticing," she returned easily, without breaking stride.

"What men?" he demanded in a petulant voice.

She refrained from answering, but she was smiling to herself as she walked out the door held open by the charming gentleman stationed there.

.

After some digging and reconnaissance work, and aided by Mozzie's insightful presence, they had a plan in place to do what their newest _companion_ wanted. Granted, it was more a back-up plan given that in Alex's opinion there was no reason why he shouldn't be able to just stroll in there and all but demand to see his father.

In her experience though, people were generally stupid, and more often than not life tended to follow the most distorted path possible. It was always best to have an alternative in place.

They changed hotels, and when she checked in under a different name he shot her a look.

"So, I'm being ridiculous when I suggest we go to my dad tonight and leave here under the cover of darkness, but it's perfectly acceptable for you to ditch your alias and adopt another between the space of two hotels," he remarked as they made their way towards the elevators.

"I know this might be a difficult concept for you to wrap your head around at the moment," she responded. "But not everything in your life is going to be based off a Bonnie-and-Clyde inspired movie."

"Give me my gun back and we're getting there," he quipped.

"Use the gun and we'd be closer," she returned.

She was out of the elevator and walking along the corridor to their room before he even had the chance to fully process what she'd said. He huffed and quickly followed after her, catching up with her without much trouble.

Upon entering, she made a beeline for the bed, dropping her bag by the side and flicking her heels off along with her coat.

She walked into the adjacent bathroom, a few select pieces in hand, and called back, "I'm on the right side."

He dropped his own bag by the table and toed off his shoes. Draping his jacket over the chair in front of the vanity, he murmured something that sounded distinctly like, "I bet you are."

The first thing she did after she closed the door behind her was to turn the shower on. Stripping her clothes off, she stepped under the spray and instantly melted beneath the hot water. If she couldn't have a massage to ease the _stress_ of the day's activities, then the power-shower would have to do.

Finally shutting off the water, she stepped out onto the cool tiles, wrapping a towel around her as she moved towards the large mirror on the opposite wall. She wiped a washcloth over the steam-covered glass until she could see her reflection.

Lifting a hand to her face she prodded at her swollen cheek, already an ugly blend of colors that the make-up had done well to hide. Her fat lip hadn't been as easy to conceal, but practice was a wonderful thing. Not to mention confidence was everything in their world, and she certainly wasn't lacking in that department.

When she had changed and brushed through her wet hair, she opened the door and walked into the adjoining room, switching the light off as she stepped across the threshold.

"I know you're awake, you know," she said as she sat on the edge of the mattress, turning briefly to glance over her shoulder at his prone form.

"Oh, good," he said at that, sitting up. "Because the longer I lay there, the more I thought about how there was probably better ways of avoiding any awkward silences between the moment you stepped through that door and the moment you got into bed with me."

Facing him then, she quirked an eyebrow. "Why does that sound like half a line from a ridiculous romance novel?"

She shook her head, dismissing the point.

"Besides, I hardly think there's any awkward silences when you're around," she remarked, amused.

He tilted his head to survey her, brow furrowed in a faux-frown. "You know sometimes, your words hurt."

"Lucky you have thicker skin than that then, isn't it?" she merely said to that.

She pulled back the covers on her side of the bed and swung her legs up, falling immediately back into the plush pillows with a contented sigh.

After a couple of minutes, she broke first, turning her head to the side and asking, "You worried about tomorrow?"

"Should I be?" he replied, facing her.

She gave him a half-shrug. "You tell me?"

"Are we going to continue this rather scintillating conversation by answering every question with a question?" he said, smiling indulgently.

She had a sneaking suspicion if she called him out on it, he'd fire back with a childish _well, you started it_. Though she couldn't be certain without trying it out, of course.

"You know," he then said, his tone light, conversational. "We keep talking about me – "

She scoffed at his liberal use of the term 'we'.

" – and I know almost nothing about you," he finished, seemingly unperturbed by her interruption.

"That's because you wouldn't stop talking," she told him. "And most of what you had to say referred back to you in some way."

"Still, it hardly seems fair," he returned, not missing a beat, his lips spreading into a wide smile to tempt her in his favor. "Why, if it wasn't for your dear friend, Mozzie, I'd still be referring to you by your _first_ alias."

"A necessary precaution in my line of work," she dismissed easily.

"That seems like a good a place as any," he remarked, grabbing hold of the topic instantly. "Why don't we start there?"

She fit him with a look as he lifted his arm up, bent at the elbow, to rest his head in the palm of his hand.

He directed a giddy smile her way, and sounded like an infatuated teen as he said, "What do you _do_, Alex?"

She heaved a sigh; it was going to be a long night.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought – it means a lot!  
Steph  
xxx


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"_All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.__"  
__**Anatole France**_

.

The next day went pretty smoothly. Well, as smoothly as it could when they rolled up to the front of the building heaving with people and cars and _uniforms_.

She shot him a look and he had the audacity to lift his shoulders, offer his hands palms up, and smile widely, innocently, back at her.

"Did I not mention my dad was getting a military funeral?" he merely said at that.

She could have throttled him.

Of course, he had the annoying habit of pointing out that if she'd done her _job _correctly, she'd have known about the rather glaringly obvious fact.

She directed a scathing look his way and refrained from mentioning that she specialized in the uncovering and retrieving of _objects_ and the fine art of selling them on without being detected. It was vastly different from this, whatever this was.

However, she knew talking through the point would likely end up a waste of breath, so she did what she did best. She improvised.

And it worked like a charm. Naturally.

.

As they sped past the sign that bid them farewell from the place he'd grown up in, she watched him gaze forlornly out the open top, the landscape all but a blur of present and past.

She moved her free hand from the steering wheel and slipped it over the hand that lay atop his thigh, threading her fingers through his. When he turned to look at her, she gave his hand a squeeze and smiled.

When his face brightened at her touch, she felt something flutter within her; like a caged bird already desperate to break free.

.

They met up with Mozzie in a different city, in a different state, far from the hotel she'd checked them into. She had an inkling that the place her _friend_ was residing at was not in the most illustrious of environments. They'd hailed a cab, he'd held the door open for her in a display of winning chivalry, and walked the rest of the way by foot. This wasn't her first time meeting Mozzie in a random location; she wasn't completely unversed in how to appear inconspicuous when the mood called for it.

She turned her head to look at him in silent observation; a rare moment of quiet when the kid had shut up and just appeared to be taking in everything around him instead.

While she couldn't exactly say it wasn't a welcome change, it was also somewhat unnerving after hours of endless chatter of excitement and intrigue.

She knocked the back of her hand against his on her next stride.

He turned to face her and instantly his mouth grew into a smile; reassurance in a single expression. Only she wasn't buying it.

"I gotta talk business again with Moz – so you can explore his little lair or whatever – and then I'm thinking we'll go out for dinner. Possibly somewhere far away from here," she said, casting a look around at their surroundings.

That elicited a short laugh from by her side, and she looked at him in question.

"You don't have to try and baby me, I'm not made of glass, you know," he told her.

Oh, she knew he wasn't made of glass. Well, maybe tempered glass, but that was made of stronger stuff. Her point exactly, and his, possibly.

She shot him a sideways glance and a scoff, "Boy, if you think this is me treading carefully, you clearly haven't been playing watchman very well."

He was still smiling.

"I just like to inform people of my plans," she shrugged and a sly smile spread across her lips. "Well, okay, only sometimes."

He chuckled lightly beside her.

"And besides, just because I didn't care for my own, doesn't mean I can't sympathize with someone else when they have to bury a parent that they did care about," she divulged then, almost sullenly, defiantly. "It's Mozzie that you should be worried about not being able to display emotions, he was the abandoned one, I was just the abused one. Psychology of personality is completely different."

"I like you better like this," he told her then, pulling open the sliding metal door and sweeping an arm in front of his body for her to step inside first. "You're less guarded, more open. Even if you are being somewhat flippant."

She rolled her eyes, but there was smile on her lips, "Mmm, you say that now when we've just entered the mad-house. I'll take your opinion again over dinner."

His laughter echoed off every corner of the abandoned space and she couldn't help releasing her own when they heard Mozzie shh-ing them as he hurried towards them. Moz didn't stand a chance against them.

.

Dinner didn't really happen. Well, it did, just not the way she'd intended when she'd first propositioned him. Mozzie had insisted on quizzing their newest recruit until he was satisfied that the information he'd provided was sufficiently submerged within the boy's conscious, and subconscious, mind. It had been a draining experience for all of them.

So, when they finally left to return to their own humble abode, they were fairly worn out. She loved to be wined-and-dined as much as the next girl, but sometimes the mood just called for something a little more casual.

Precisely the reason they ended up on her bed, watching a mix of old spy films and heist and confidence movies and sharing a pizza. She'd taken great delight in pointing out rather obvious plot holes in each and every one, unabashed glee displayed on her face when she added to those the ones that might've been deemed subtle mistakes. It wasn't really a surprise when he joined in; it just added to the entertainment factor.

Eventually the television screen had been abandoned and she'd turned cross-legged to face him atop the comforter. They'd veered off-course from the storyline of the current film and were now discussing their own version of how things should have occurred. Naturally, he was just full of exceptional ideas.

"The basement's always going to be a good point of entry," he remarked, and she nodded.

"Unless you can find a way just to walk straight into the place," she replied, smiling indulgently, almost secretively. "In which case, that's your better point of entry."

"And to exit? Presuming you can't just walk back out again," he said, inclining his head.

"You're a strapping young lad, I'm sure you could just rappel down the outside of the building," she answered, eyes glinting in amusement. "While I follow the less strenuous route of an emergency exit or alternative access point."

"You'd have us split up then?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, watching her closely.

"Can't tie us together if we're only known for working alone," she returned with an easy shrug.

"I bet you don't get nearly enough credit for your smarts," he commented then, an affectionate smile resting low on his cheeks, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a fondness that was almost foreign to her.

"What? You mean, do guys generally look at me and all they see is fuck-me pumps and a hot body and feel a vague reassurance that I'm over-21? Sure," she said, and she shrugged, tried to play it off with nonchalance. "But whatever gets the job done, right?"

He launched himself forward then and captured her lips with his, the hands framing her face only serving to intensify the connection.

"You shouldn't sell yourself short," he told her when they broke apart, catching breath.

"What do you care?" she returned, breathing deeply, eyes still closed. "It's all an act anyway."

"Because someone will take advantage of it," he answered, mirroring her earlier words to him.

She opened her eyes and caught his gaze, and they stayed like that, just staring into each other's eyes as he held her.

"I should've known you'd cause me untold grief," she murmured then, her lips barely an inch from his. "You and those damn blue eyes."

He flashed her a dazzling smile at that.

"Don't forget my charm and talent," he quipped. "Both of which are completely unparalleled."

"Well," she replied. "I don't go for just anyone, you know."

He leaned in closer and grinned against her lips. "Oh, I know."

.

At some point in the early hours, they'd succumbed to sleep, both still fully dressed and lying on top of the blankets. She'd looked at the clock on the side table, and carefully detangled herself from his arms to rise.

Placing a call into Mozzie, she started to gather the minimal items she'd brought with her while she waited for him to arrive.

He was sleeping soundly when she approached him, all innocence and boyish features, and she smiled at the sight.

Leaning over to brush her fingers through his hair and sweep some tendrils across his forehead, she traced her knuckles softly along his cheek and over his jaw.

She dropped a tender kiss to his lips and murmured, "Goodbye Luke O'Neill."

As she straightened up, her fingers twisted round the silver chain she'd left for him on the bedside table. It held a medallion of his former namesake: St. Luke, the Patron Saint of artists and painters.

She cast one last lingering look over him, regret and longing and warmth running through her. The corners of her lips pulled upwards with the memories they conjured, before she turned to leave.

"Until we meet again, Neal Caffrey," she whispered to the shadows, closing the door behind her.

.

"You take care of him," she'd told Mozzie as he stood in wait outside the room.

He nodded; didn't say a word about how he was essentially cleaning up her mess, or that for the poor abused one; she could sure pull off abandonment with a finesse that told of years of practice.

She held tight to her bag as she strode away, didn't look back once. When she finally reached the safety of her car, all the doors closed, all the windows sealed, she unclenched her fists to reveal the half-moons carefully crafted into her skin like lasting reminders. A slow trickle of blood followed her lifeline until it hit the curve of an old scar on her wrist and veered sharply off its intended path.

She knew she wouldn't be able to just walk away, had known it from the moment she tried to do just that after acquiring the artifact from his father's pawnshop.

She turned on the ignition and slammed the car into gear, putting the window down to drag the wind into the confined space; she needed air.

With her hand still on the steering wheel, she turned it over to see her palm transformed crimson. She concentrated on breathing steadily as her speed climbed and she left the place far quicker than she'd arrived.

She'd already started sacrificing parts of herself for him; her world was beginning to spin on his axis and she needed to get away.

She'd be back, though, to check on him, to guide him, to partner up with him. She didn't have a choice; he was a part of her life now.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought – means a lot!  
Steph  
xxx


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

_"If we close our eyes and count to ten_  
_This will disappear and begin again."_  
_**Editors, 'Some Kind of Spark'**_

.

She met up with them months later, halfway across the country from where they'd had their first encounter.

"Mozzie taught you to drive yet?" she called out, leaning casually against the brick building behind her.

He swiveled round, and though she caught a slight flash of something in his eyes, he did nothing but mirror her tone as he replied, "Is that your way of saying you've come all this way to teach me?"

"Well, that depends," she countered, her voice still matching his, as she pushed off the wall and started to walk across the sidewalk towards him.

He quirked an eyebrow in silent question, the hands in his pockets lifting in a movement that prompted her to continue.

"Think you're road-savvy enough not to scratch my new baby?" she queried, and lifted her hand to make a show of pressing the button on her key.

Somewhere not far from where they stood a Lamborghini flashed its lights at the electronic command.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice lighter with the humor it held. "The Ferrari too mundane for you?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Would you say no if this was offered to you?"

He plucked the keys from her hand and started to stroll over to where she'd parked.

She smiled to herself, satisfied. "That's what I thought."

She joined him in the passenger seat a few minutes later and watched as he ran his hand over the various surfaces, almost in awe of what lay before him.

His gaze skirted over to her. "You didn't steal it, did you?"

She tilted her head and gave him a look as if to say: _please, what do you take me for?_

He mirrored her action and shot her a look right back, unconvinced.

She rolled her eyes. "Do you know how much this thing costs? Too much trouble to jack it, believe me. Bit like the Aston Martin and the Porsche before it. It's just easier if you get a set of keys."

He pursed his lips, but his cheeks were pinched with the betrayal of a smile.

She shrugged, looking pleased with herself as she glanced out the window. "Besides, I'm a trust-fund baby."

"The fact you just called a car worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, a _thing_ fits well with your cover too," he remarked and then flashed her a smile. "Or is that just your natural entitled personality I see shining through?"

"Shut up, and turn the ignition on. Put your foot down on the clutch and stick this thing in gear," she replied, sounding bored. "Let's get moving already."

When the engine roared to life, he took a moment to just sit there and look at the steering wheel, which he held with both hands, the expression on his face one of sheer amazement.

"You ready?" she asked after a minute.

He sent her a sideways glance, and a dazzling smile. "Baby, I was born ready."

"Save the lines for the unsuspecting schoolgirls, Casanova," she replied, sliding on her sunglasses. "Now let's get this show on the road. Drive."

Of course it wasn't the first time he'd been behind the wheel, and though he was no absolute novice, he was certainly not an experienced roadster either. So when he stalled in the middle of the wide-open road, with no other cars in sight, she couldn't help but burst out laughing. The look of complete and utter bewilderment on his face was priceless.

She had to admit, as much as he continued to impress her with all his skill and talent; it never hurt to bring him down a peg or two. Especially when it happened in such hilarious fashion as his driving 'mishap'.

Needless to say, he never stalled again after that.

She smiled happily to herself; that was one way to teach him.

.

"So, you're back then," he said, when he'd parked her car and turned off the engine.

"Well, don't sound so disappointed," she replied, cracking a smile.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he responded. "Would you rather I welcomed you with open arms and pretended like you didn't just abandon me after your promise to look after me?"

"Hey!" she held up a hand in warning at that, her pointer finger extended. "I never promised anything, and I told you that Moz was going to be your mentor. I left you with him because he _could_ look after you."

"I get it, no honor among thieves," he responded, and he wrenched the handle open, slamming the door behind him as he stalked towards the building she'd been standing outside earlier.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she questioned, catching up with him and pulling on his arm so he spun round to face her.

"Well, what does it sound like?" he answered, the anger evident in his tone. "You agree to take me with you, then you give me a completely different name, ensure I have to live by this identity because I'm now in a completely different city from the one I grew up in, and then you just leave me there. With a guy I only just met!"

"D'you want another minute there, to be a bit more ungrateful?" she said, raising her eyebrows, her expression one of cool indifference. "I just let you drive my car, uninsured, while you're not even road legal – and also, it's worth _hundreds of thousands of dollars_."

He drew in a heavy breath.

"God, get your priorities right!" she exclaimed, heaving a sigh. "Did you learn nothing in our time together?"

It was slow to start, but eventually she weaseled a smile out of him, which broke into a grin, and then bubbled over into laughter.

"Oh, come here," she said, and held out her arms to fold him in her embrace.

She held tight to him, simply reveling in his presence while she had the chance.

"Your angst-ridden teenager is showing," she teased then.

"It happens when a beautiful girl kisses you, damn near seduces you – " he ignored her mock gasp at that, " – and leaves you before the sun's even come up, in the care of an eccentric!"

"So you'd object if I told you this was a booty call then?" she asked, pouting.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the door, laughing the whole way.

.

They were sitting on the sofa, talking about anything and everything and nothing in between, when Mozzie entered.

"Alex," he acknowledged, deliberately slowly.

"Mozzie," she returned, the smile still set on her face.

"Neal," the elder turned to the boy across from her then, and it took her a second to realize his response was instant. "Did you happen to tell our guest of our current location?"

She rolled her eyes. "You do remember what I do for a living, right? I'm a fence, Mozzie; I find things, people. It's what I _do_."

He huffed his annoyance and she heaved a sigh.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," she waved him off. "I didn't get tailed, I haven't heard any chatter. Your current hide-away is perfectly safe."

"That may be, but we shall be moving tomorrow," he informed her snootily. "Neal, be sure to be ready to leave at a moment's notice. I shall be the one to decide on the time, to ensure we don't have any breaches of security."

Mozzie shot a look at her then, before turning and moving towards the door.

"Think that was his way of saying I should've called before I came?" she asked, doing nothing to hide her amusement.

"Maybe," he mused in return, watching Mozzie walk out of the room before turning back to face her. "But this place doesn't have any phones."

"Of course it doesn't," she replied.

"Outside communication can be traced you know," he informed her, and she swatted him at his tone.

"Maybe I should've stuck around," she said then, giving him a look. "Ensured his paranoia wasn't contagious."

He grinned at her. "You should've stuck around anyway," he told her. "Maybe you'd have learned a thing or two."

"Oh, so now you're an experienced con artist, are you?" she asked, eyebrows raised, smile tweaking her lips upwards.

He rolled his shoulders, a teasing quirk of his mouth. "I prefer the term _social-engineer_."

Her laughter echoed off the walls, and he beamed at her; oh, it was good to be back.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought – it really does mean a lot!  
Just a couple of chapters left :)  
Steph  
xxx


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

"_There's nothing quite so humbling as thinking you're completely over someone, then realizing you're not even close."  
_**_Brian Strause, 'Maybe a Miracle'_**

.

Her trips were never long, but they used to make the most of each other's company regardless of time. They met up in random locations, occasionally joining up to partake in a particular project in between. In truth, she was finding it more and more difficult to stay away.

When Mozzie became further embroiled in the inner sanctums of the Detroit mob a few years later, she returned once more to rescue him. She whisked him away with her before any of those _characters_ could become aware of his presence, not that she didn't trust Mozzie to cover his tracks, but one could never be too careful. Besides, _Neal_ was known to attract _company_.

They went to the continent. There they spent the following few months exploring various parts of the countries that bordered one another across the huge landmass, but an ocean away from their place of birth.

She knew he didn't need to be educated in the arts, but it never hurt to brush up on their supposed area of expertise. She introduced him to many of the Eastern European places of certain interest to her and the _specialized_ form of find-retrieve-sell-on-for-a-profit she more than dabbled in.

He was fascinated, but she knew his interest piqued most during the heist stage. It was the challenge he relished; and he was more than up to the job. He'd proved that more than once.

A small con here and there, a little heist every so often; it certainly broke up their extended leave. Mozzie might not have approved; he preferred to intricately plan down to the last detail, not that that generally happened when Neal was around, but still; and given he was a whole ocean away, they simply followed the out-of-sight-out-of-mind route. There was a time when she was as careful as Mozzie, well, almost; Neal's impulsiveness was a dangerous trait to be taking root within her. And yet, she had never lost sight of her goals, or her smarts; she still made wise decisions, she still looked out for number one. She'd noticed that had rubbed off on him, and she couldn't help but smile. It would be good for him to remember that selfishness, at the end of the day, was what would keep you alive and out of jail.

She did believe in honor among thieves; she'd stand by Mozzie and Neal, sure; but she wasn't deluded enough not to ensure she always had a back-up plan for her alone.

At the end of the day, the only person you could really count on was yourself. As much as they all hated to admit it sometimes, the phrase _no man is an island_ didn't really hold true in their world.

.

They spent their first Christmas together in New York.

He'd left their suite for the bar while she finished getting ready. When she arrived downstairs, the mass congregation near the ballroom and the familiar melody playing through the air had her shaking her head and rolling her eyes.

He was seated at the grand piano, belting out a Rat Pack number; his voice perfectly in tune with his fingers as they graced the keys. When she stepped into the room, his eyes found hers instantly.

The smile that lit up his face was enough to part the crowd like the Red Sea and she made her ways towards him; the material of her black dress shimmering with every step, under the light of the grand chandelier above them.

He looked every bit the debonair gentleman; fitted black suit hugging his slight frame and fedora tilted at a set angle atop his dark locks. And, of course, he played like he was a concert pianist and sang like he'd spent his life on the stage. She supposed she shouldn't have expected any less.

"Well, someone looks particularly stunning tonight," were his first words when she stepped up to where he was sitting on the miniature stool.

"You don't look too bad yourself," she replied with a smile.

"Oh, I know. I've been told already," he revealed in a stage whisper.

She let out a short laugh, "Of course you have."

He flashed her smile before turning his attention briefly to the keys before him as he began a new song.

"Nice hat," she added, a twinkle in her eye.

"Why thank you," he returned, moving back round to face her.

He inclined his head, and gifted her with a dazzling smile.

"Madam," he addressed her with mock formality, "would you care to sing the accompaniment?"

"Oh, if I must," she faked a sigh, and turned so she was facing the crowd gathered before them.

His fingers flew across the ivory strip and it appeared so effortless, it was mesmerizing. She arched her back across the end of the piano and sent him a sly smile as she tipped her head back. His eyes caught onto hers and never let go as his lips parted in sync with hers and they delivered the first line in perfect harmony.

When she straightened up and began to strut towards the crowd of people admiring their duet, she made sure to keep her eyes fixated on him when she placed a hand on an elderly man's shoulder and then danced around him.

She winked at him and he ducked his head, a low chuckle escaping his lips and mingling with the rumble of laughter that circled around them.

She made her way back across to him and dropped herself onto his lap, delivering the last line with her arms wrapped around his neck.

He played the last few notes and finished the song by deftly moving his hands from the cool ivory to dip her and capture her lips with his.

There was clapping all around and heartfelt looks when they resurfaced, which quickly turned into joyous celebration as their barman merrily informed them all that it was Christmas Day.

They spent the rest of the night in their hotel room making love.

.

They rang in the New Year together singing Auld Lang Syne in the place of its origin.

Scotch was in ready supply, a fact he seemed to be particularly pleased by. She had to admit that a small part of her enjoyed not having to lie about her age when the host offered her a glass with an easy smile. Her current license had been doing that for her for years, of course, but it was a strange comfort to know that at least some semblance of her true self would follow her into the New Year.

When he saw she didn't have a drink, he took her hand in his to raise his glass and toast with the locals to health, wealth and happiness for the coming year.

He hooked his arm around hers and lifted the glass up to her lips. She kept her eyes trained on his, and smiled around the rim as his lips parted in sync with hers before she took more than a healthy sip of the amber liquid.

She lifted the glass to his lips and he took a gulp, and then she kissed him, the tang of alcohol heavy on their tongues, making the moment all the more intoxicating.

They danced with the residents and other guests, and then retired to their room to the background of folk music and warm laughter.

With all the stores shut the next day, they explored the city. She was fascinated by some of the history it held, the buildings and sculptures available for public display. And he seemed mesmerized by her, seeing her so enraptured. She supposed it was almost like a turning of tables, with her like the child in front of the candy-store window, and she reveled in it. It was good for him to take a back seat for once.

Although, naturally, that didn't last long and soon they found plenty to seize his interest. It was oddly _nice_: a tit-for-tat almost, this sharing of interests, this common ground they found themselves standing in, the playing field near fair for once.

In a world where you were always trying to outwit someone else, constantly on your guard, eyes alert for anything and everything that surrounded you; it was like being offered a well-needed vacation. Being in his company was like a release from everything she'd come to know. It was scary and exhilarating and she could feel herself becoming more and more addicted to his presence with each passing day. She'd known since they first met that he'd be her weakness; but she was just starting to realize just how deep the feelings ran.

.

They flew to Australia after that, to soak up the sun after celebrating a White Christmas.

They went skinny dipping in the ocean, under the dark canvas of the night sky, with only the stars to light in their way. It was like something out of a movie. He laughed when she told him he was making their relationship utterly cliché, and said that nothing they did could ever be considered as such. They were original; nobody quite like them had ever existed before, or ever would after them; and what they shared was beyond what words could describe.

She kicked sand at him and he chased her back into the water and the rest of the night went from there.

When she awoke the next day, she traced the lines of his bare back until she felt him shift beneath her. He rolled over to face her and smiled lazily up at her, capturing her hand in his and interlacing their fingers. She rested her arms on his chest and looked out across the horizon. He followed her gaze and together they watched the sun rise above the sea, a new day already beginning at the end of the world.

They parted on good terms, both having learned and loved a bit more than before; grateful for what the other offered, sad to see it come to an end once more.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought :)  
Steph  
xxx


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

"_Love is love, even if you're not supposed to be together."  
_**_Grey's Anatomy_**

.

She kept tabs on him through Mozzie and some other not quite as savory channels. It was some time later that she got word from one of her contacts higher up in the bureaucracy than she ever really cared to dwell on – except to ensure she always had enough to cover herself – of an artist the authorities were calling _Blue Eyes. _She didn't even bother to fight the smile that spread across her face.

Apparently he was winning the hearts of officers and agents all over the country with the gifts he'd leave and the packages he'd send while they staked out his supposed position or arrived at his alleged previous place of residence just that bit too late.

She laughed at that development, because she knew she wasn't the only one to have fallen for Neal Caffrey's charm at one point or another.

He'd hold the world in the palm of his hand one day, and though she'd never admit it, she hoped he'd be holding her hand with his other.

.

Mozzie was good enough to pre-warn her about _the Kate situation_ before she was due to cross paths with them for a job on the East Coast.

Neal seemed smitten with her; that much was obvious. For his sake, she put whatever personal feelings she had aside. Not to mention the fact that at the end of the day, she was a professional if nothing else, and damn good at her job too.

She tried to be civil to the girl; nice, even; but it was clear from the get-go that the two were never going to get along like Neal wanted. She rolled her eyes at him when he threw his hands up in the air, apparently exasperated by their constant butting-of-heads.

"I don't know what you expected," she merely remarked then. "You know I don't tolerate minimum standards, and this is beginning to feel like amateur hour."

She scooped up her bag from the seat next to her and pushed back the chair as she stood.

"Alex!" he tried, holding out his hand for her to wait, eyes beseeching her to hear him out.

"Call me when you actually have a plan in place that will work," she directed at Neal.

She patted him on the chest when he jumped from his place to try and stop her, and willed herself not to tug her hand out of his grip immediately when he lifted his and slipped his fingers over hers. From the corner of her eye, Alex watched a frown mar Kate's otherwise gorgeous features, as Neal plucked the origami flower from her grasp, her number written neatly on the underside of one of the folds.

"Maybe then I'll have time for you," she told him simply and walked out, letting the door go behind her.

.

"He'd choose me," Kate's voice reached her from the other end of the corridor, tone matter-of-fact. "If I asked him, you know he'd choose me."

"And therein lies the difference between us, Kate," she replied, her lips pulled into a half-frown as she swiveled on her heel to face the other woman. "I'd never ask him to choose."

The younger narrowed her eyes, understanding the implications of her own words.

"And if you loved him as he seems to think you do," Alex continued. "You'd never ask him to give up what we have, no matter what you think you might have."

Kate's glare never wavered and she advanced on her position and said, "You can't win. You won't. He loves _me_."

The elder closed whatever distance there was between them, her eyes hard, her expression just as unyielding as she stared the other woman down.

"Yes, he does," Alex awarded her, though her tone was cold. "But if you don't stop toying with his heartstrings like this is some elaborate _game _you're both involved in, I will destroy you before you have the chance to do the same to him."

"You destroy me and that will destroy him, Alex, you know it will," Kate retorted, and despite her feelings for the other woman, the elder could detect the honest regret that mingled with the truth in her words.

"Is that so?" she coolly raised an eyebrow. "Care to test your little theory?"

Kate wasn't a violent woman by nature, neither was Alex for that matter, but she could see the contempt plainly on the other woman's face and it seriously made her wonder what exactly it would take to push Kate over that particular edge?

"You wouldn't dare," Kate seethed.

Alex's eyes glinted dangerously in the rationed light, as she calmly retorted, "Now who doesn't want to play the game?"

And with that she turned on her heel and left the other alone in the dark corridor.

.

After she'd removed herself from the job, they had used another as a fill-in. She knew he wasn't a replacement; you couldn't replace what you couldn't define.

There was a whole _fiasco_, as Mozzie put it, with Kate and Neal and Keller not long after they'd done the job and she'd walked out that day. She drew in a heavy breath, and willed herself not to succumb to the gnawing at her chest that made her want to answer Mozzie's pleas to go and try diffuse the situation somewhat.

"I gave him a life of his own," she told her old friend, and exhaled slowly. "I can't have him ruling mine as well."

The conversation ended with Mozzie heaving a weighted sigh that made her want to retract everything she'd said and done and simply be there for Neal. Except, she couldn't. She had her own life, and he had his and it was time she started looking out for herself again, herself and no one else.

.

Copenhagen and sneaking into the Amalienborg Palace, to hang out with the royal family and possibly acquire a certain music box, was merely a blip on her otherwise perfectly self-centered schedule. The jump from the gate-house that left her hospitalized against her wishes and a scar on her arm that she doubted would ever fade, due to the bone breaking through the skin, ensured that.

Kate's immediate return to his side after he'd all-but abandoned her to white walls and the smell of antiseptic then gave way to word of a lengthy prison stay on his part. Although it physically pained her to hear of him being locked up, a talent like his intentionally being kept from the world, a small part of her couldn't help but rejoicing at the karma of it all.

She didn't don a wig and glasses and sit in the stalls for his hearing, nor did she avert her gaze from the cameras and chance the security gates to visit him in prison.

The message was clear: _you burn me; I burn you_.

That sealed the deal on her self-inflicted exile from the boy she'd once saved a lifetime ago.

**_TBC…_**

* * *

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought :)  
Steph  
xxx


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

_"We'd be so less fragile_  
_If we're made from metal_  
_And our hearts from iron_  
_And our minds from steel_  
_And if we built an army_  
_Full of tender bodies_  
_Could we love each other_  
_Would we stop to feel?"_  
**_The Pierces, 'Three Wishes'_**

.

She kept her resolution until he found her again in New York, having been transferred from one prison to another, even if the current one did offer him a little more legroom.

Later, after she'd returned the music box to Neal, Mozzie told her of Kate's fate. He needn't have bothered; the channels were awash with the chatter and she went underground like the smart girl she'd always been known to be.

She couldn't exactly say she was sorry to see the girl go, only for Neal's sake. Something as base as jealousy would never taint what she felt for him; she loved him like no other, and he had committed his heart to another girl. What he gave her was so profound, so unparalleled, however, that she couldn't bring herself to feel anything but grief for him, that he was suffering as he was.

Months passed, and when they finally crossed-paths, her heart beat that bit quicker, the color rising in her cheeks that bit more, when their talents converged once again. It was almost like old times.

They kept in touch and met up whenever she was _passing-through_. They meandered their way through the red tape that his handler kept securely round him, and skirted the line between lawful and unlawful; playful falling somewhere in between.

As the years passed, she found herself in New York more and more, specifically confined to a certain two-mile radius. She wasn't exactly complaining, given the company.

It was only when she was there and he wasn't that there were any problems, because _of course_ that meant he'd gone and attracted attention, of the wrong kind. So, _of course_, she had to save him.

It was a bit like coming full circle; at least, according to Mozzie.

She'd never be rid of him then.

So, of course, she had to mount a rescue mission for him.

.

Her breath near caught in her throat when she laid eyes on him in that room.

He was chained to a chair in the center of the small space; chains she suspected had long been picked, though they'd obviously taken other precautions to restrain him, the thought and sight of which sickened her.

"God, Neal, nothing's ever straightforward with you is it?" she muttered as she stomped angrily over to him.

His head hung limply against his chest as she went about releasing him from the various improvised forms of bindings.

"Alex?" she heard him rasp into her ear as she knelt before him.

"Yeah, Neal, it's me," she told him, her voice dropping to a softer tone as she took a moment to cup his face in her hands and meet his eyes.

"Knew you couldn't resist me for long," he quipped and quirked his lips up in a bloody smile.

"Come on, let's just concentrate on getting you out of here," she told him, unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes at him or smiling in return. Some things never changed.

When she'd done her part, he carefully lifted his arms, biting his lip to prevent the groan from escaping, and the clatter of metal confirmed her original thoughts. She'd never known Neal to meet a lock he couldn't pick. Well, except his anklet.

He stumbled against her as she lifted his 'good' arm to drape over her shoulder, and she had to stabilize herself with an arm of her own secured tightly around his waist to prevent them from toppling over within the first few steps.

"And don't think I missed you referring to me as the Lord Almighty either," he told her, breath hot on her skin, words coming in short pants. "I mean, I always knew you valued my various talents, Alex, but I had no idea you regarded them as _divine_."

"You heard that huh?" she asked, half amused by this and half aware that she could use this to her advantage in attempting to keep him conscience and somewhat lucid.

"Yup," he responded, and his body hugged closer to hers as she felt his smile imprinting on her cheek. "And we both know your life wouldn't be half as much fun as it is without me in it."

"Oh, is that what you think?" she retorted, twisted her head and raising an eyebrow at him, even though he didn't meet her eyes.

"Not what I think," he countered. "What I _know_."

And with that he'd promptly dropped to the ground unconscious and she'd been left to all-but drag him out of the facility and to her meeting point with the FBI. She liked a challenge as much as the next girl, but if he was going to continue to test her like that she wanted some more recognition of her skills.

.

"I know you love me, you know," he released with a sleepy breath, blinking tiredly, shrinking further into the mound of hospital-provided pillows that were currently propping him up.

"Is that so?" her amused tone played through the air, a small smile on her face.

"Mhmm," he murmured, his lips tweaking upwards. "You've loved me from the moment we met and I tried to sell you that forgery in my dad's pawnshop. It was the big blue eyes and brilliant smile that drew you in, the charm and talent just made it your lucky day."

She released a quiet laugh with his words, while everyone else seemed to be watching the scene with bated breath.

"That's the romantic in you, Caffrey," she chastised teasingly.

His hand reached across to fiddle with his sling and she leaned over to fix it for him. The presence of her fingers over his resulted in a low exhale and his hand slumped back to its original place by his side.

"You think it was love at first sight?" she asked playfully, brushing some loose tendrils across his forehead.

She imagined one of the reasons the others were watching them so closely was due to the fact that they were acting so uncharacteristically _not_ like they did when in the company of said people. It was mildly amusing.

"For you it was," he told her, his hand blindly finding hers on the bed and curling round it, as he sluggishly opened his eyes. "But I've been falling in love with you for years."

His mouth curved into an easy smile, the one that reached his eyes without really trying; the one he kept tucked away for moments like this, moments with her.

He seemed to revel in her reaction: the glance to the side, the slight roll of the eyes, the unintended smile that crept its way along her lips until it was resting high on her cheeks.

He reached up and cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand and she lifted her own to cradle his, their fingers entwining again. She basked in the warmth that radiated between them.

"Always the charmer, weren't you blue-eyes?" she said to him fondly.

"Yeah, but that's just one of the many and varied things you love about me," he told her, positively beaming as he did so.

She pursed her lips together around a smile of her own as she teased, "Hmm, maybe."

"Don't deny it, Alex," he told her, and he was positively beaming. "We all know you love me."

He kissed her then, in full view of everyone. And she didn't protest, in fact, she found herself getting lost in him just like she had that first time he'd captured her lips with his; their tongues battling for dominance as the build up of passion and chemistry threatened to consume them both.

She sighed contentedly against him as they broke apart, and the smile that lifted the corners of his lips high on his cheeks spread contagious over hers.

It had been a long time coming.

.

"_When I saw you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew."  
__**William Shakespeare**_

.

_**The End.**_

* * *

I hope you enjoyed it and thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, alerted or favourited – it really does mean so much to me :)  
Steph  
xxx


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